Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Nineteen - Paying Respects

Chapter nineteen – Paying Respects

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-One week later-

"Don't worry Michael, you'll be okay. And besides, you'll have me here to support you. I'll be by your side throughout the entire thing ... I promise."

My hand touches lightly upon his, only aiming to comfort him. It's the day that all his family and friends are buried, and it's all a little overwhelming for him. He's been thinking about it all week so far ... and to be honest, I don't blame him. It's such a huge thing with just one person, let alone everyone he's ever known and loved.

He nods, averting his eyes down in despair, "I hope so. I just can't believe I'm having to do this." He fiddles with the adorable white rose in his hands, fingering the fragile petals carefully, as not to break them.

At the moment, we're sitting on a bench outside, in the graveyard that his family's remains will be buried in. There's going to be a little service in a few moments, but the person running it hasn't arrived yet.

I take a moment to examine Michael's clothing. A few days back, the police came around with a large bag, which contained a whole load of clothing – his own, his brothers', his father's – the list goes on. Among it all, he found a few formal-looking items of clothing, which he's wearing right now.

He's got on a black tuxedo-type thing, with a matching black tie and black loafers; a white undershirt which matches the rose in his hand, and his hair tied loosely into a ponytail, a few stray curls hovering over his forehead like normal. If the occasion weren't so depressing, I would say he looks rather handsome.

As for me, I'm wearing a simple black dress – it's typical to wear black at this kind of thing – and there's a small white rose tucked into my hair, to match Michael's. The only difference is, he's saving his rose for later, whereas mine has no particular use at all.

This is the furthest away from my house that we've come in the time we've known each other. Granted, I've come out on my own further than this, but this is way further than Michael has been in the past few weeks. It must be such a change of scenery for him.

"I know," I sigh, rubbing his arm, "It must be a big deal for you. I understand that." My eyes glance over at the other various gravestones and memorial benches in the graveyard, "But ... I'm always here, and you should know that by now."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod, "I know. Thank you ... Citria ... for being here for me ... " His voice almost seems to strain towards the end of his sentence, but he composes himself once again, "Honestly ... thank you."

A tiny closed-mouth smile tugs at my lips, "You don't need to say thank you. It's more of a duty now, rather than a chore. Don't get me wrong, it's never been a chore ... I just mean, it makes me happy, knowing that you're happy."

"And that's exactly what I love about you," he states, only just above a whisper, "You're so selfless. All you ever do is think of others. I like that, Cit. More girls should be like you."

"Me?" I almost scoff, swatting the air in disbelief, "No, Michael. If every girl was like me, there would be a lot of problems in this world."

"Problems like what?" he challenges all of a sudden, "Because I fail to see any problems." His tone makes it difficult for me to tell whether he's just joking around with me, or whether he's being genuine and serious.

A tiny niggling feeling itches the back of my throat, so I clear it, buying myself some time to think of a decent reply. After I've thought of what to say, I speak out, "Well ... nobody's perfect, are they?" I question rhetorically, "So ... even the best people have flaws."